


Christmas in Finkton

by J_Revolver



Category: BioShock, BioShock Infinite
Genre: Christmas, M/M, Ya'll
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-08 02:50:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3192458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_Revolver/pseuds/J_Revolver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Christmas Eve in Columbia and Jeremiah Fink and his closest associate Flambeau are expected for a Yuletide gala. </p><p>Rosalind and Jeremiah share a dance, Robert and Flambeau share a tense balcony scene. Festive feuds for all!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas in Finkton

Flambeau hated the cold. He curled his fingers around the handle of his briefcase and clenched his jaw. It left him feeling odious and sick and charged him with memories of harsh winters he’d long left behind. A shiver consumed his spine and he shook off a dusting of snow that had settled on his shoulders as he’d stopped to check the time. His fur-lined coat did little to assist him in this climate. Why Father Comstock had insisted on plotting a course that kept with ideal winter climates was beyond him. Perhaps there was a psychological reasoning to it- reminding people of what they’d left behind he figured.   
Keeping up with the seasonal traditions did, however, bring a slight smile to his face regardless of the cold. Shop fronts and other establishments all throughout Finkton had brought out their best in presenting a yuletide flare to their displays and interior decor. Those with lesser resources had seemingly taken advantage of the giving spirit that had fallen on the Columbian populous. Scrawny children covered in rags peddled scraggy wreaths and smaller adornments while others played holiday tunes from broken instruments. An annual charity for the Factory Orphanage had been running since Thanksgiving week.   
Finkton was quite unlike the rest of Columbia in quite a few regards, but there was certainly no other place you could find a group of old men playing with a dreidel. Flambeau passed them and wondered how long it would take for a factory supervisor to scold them back to work. They noticed Flambeau in passing and shuffled to hide away their unwelcome practices, and while Flambeau wouldn’t even think of reporting it, it wasn’t worth breaking his status. He simply pressed his lips together and carried on. 

Entering the massive office of his employer he didn’t stop to remove his coat as the heat was turned down at temperature he would deem uncomfortable. He did, however, remove his hat and set it beside Fink’s on a rack.

“These...fucking...results.” Fink growled from far away, rapidly going over a series of files. He slammed his knuckles on the desk. “That goddamn...bird!”

“Two turtle doves? Or a partridge?” Flambeau spoke in a tired lull but it was never low enough for Fink to not pick up on his sarcasm. 

“Ha. Ha.” Fink’s eyes narrowed, shaking his head at Flambeau. “What’ve you brought me? Something from the synthetics department?” He paced over to Flambeau without a beat. 

Raising a curious brow, Flambeau slowly removed a leather glove and withdrew a worn envelope from within his case. “I should hope you won’t resort to such unsavory language at the soiree this evening.” 

Fink grabbed at the envelope, heavily stressed from a long and unsuccessful day at the board.   
“Sir...if I may. Perhaps this day’s events haven’t gone as...flawlessly as they might given the timing.”   
“What’re you suggesting? That we start earlier? Cut meal breaks?”   
“Perhaps relieving all factory and laboratory scheduling until the twenty-sixth?”  
“What are you-”  
“Sir...it is Christmas Eve.” He offered with a small laugh.   
Fink slowly lowered the envelope. “That’s what tonight is, isn’t it. The Columbia Christmas Ball. I’ll be damned.”   
Flambeau watched him return to his desk, stuffing the envelope into a drawer and locking it twice before dragging a hand across his desktop. 

“Hmmmm.....Hmmm..” Fink hummed in his public tone, as if he were preparing to present to the July Raffle. “Mr. Flambeau...you are actually suggesting I forego my annual Christmas overtime bonus for all workers?” 

Flambeau cleared his throat and straightened his back, pacing foreword and using his hands to articulate. “Given the productive and stress...I mean, highly active and profitable year we’ve had. I do believe it might be in your best interest to reward your employees. Project Songbird has consumed time, resources, and man-efforts beyond our typical capabil-” 

“Beyond our capabilities, you say?” Fink finished, swirling around and pulling on his coat. “That’s all the more reason to give them overtime!”

Flambeau opened his mouth in response but quickly shut it before Fink noticed. “Sir.” 

Fink cupped his chin in his forefinger and thumb, whipping out his pocket watch with his other hand and scowled at the hour. “Hmmm... only a quarter to three.” 

The quick -snap- of the watch closing. “Alright Flambeau. As you wish. Let’s give the poor bastards a goddamn holiday.” 

x-x-x-x-x-x

Celebration erupted from the factory halls. Moonshine and finely aged libations were immediately brought from behind mysterious storage places and Scientists, Technicians, Mechanists, Guards, and Operators alike scurried off to enjoy themselves before there was time for reconsideration. They cheered Fink as he passed, Flambeau at his side, as if he were a war hero. Perhaps it was easier then, to display appreciation than disdain, in hopes the practice would continue. Flambeau knew it would not, at the very least on Fink’s terms, and found it most incredible he’d successfully convinced his employer in favor of the whole town.   
They returned to Fink’s personal manor, which existed primarily for status and show rather than occupancy. Of course, only Flambeau and a minimal staff knew Fink spent most of his time in his chambers by his office. However, there was a practical aspect this afternoon.   
There were very few people in Columbia- in the world, in fact, that Jeremiah Fink completely trusted. One of them was his brother, Albert, the other was Flambeau, his associate since well before Comstock sought them out.   
Endowing Flambeau with the task of shaving him required an immense amount of reassurance. He unbuttoned the top of his shirt and reclined in a barber shop chair he’d had installed in what was essentially a room dedicated to grooming. Mirrors and a bath occupied one corner- a closet of freshly washed towels and bathing lotions took up another wall.   
The entire staff had also been dismissed, not that Fink had ever required them for much himself. It was almost comical, Flambeau thought to himself, that such a stoic and solitary man who’d always required so little, had so many employed for his care. He came to Fink with a small bowl of lather and began applying it, his sleeves rolled up to avoid soiling them.   
“Do tell me...who exactly do I have the pleasure of enduring this evening?” Fink muttered as Flambeau finished up with the lather.   
“Marlowe and his curse of an ego. Mr. Easter and his fiendish wife. A variety of fresh associates that’ve somehow managed to surface in the good graces of the Prophet.” Flambeau released a sigh. “Is there even a point in me listing it?”   
He turned away for a moment, preparing the razor.   
“Hm. Should be some good fresh gossip to surface outta them.”   
“Sir. You know eavesdropping is my duty.” Flambeau smiled, coming to his side and ever so delicately tilting Fink’s chin with his forefinger. The surrender of motion Fink offered him and the gentle but very calculated orchestrating Flambeau gave him with just the gesture of a finger brought quite a collaboration between the two of them. It demanded all of Flambeau’s remanning efforts to not smile sheepishly at such proximity. He’d never be able to recover.   
“And the Luteces. Rosalind, specifically.”   
Fortunately, the mention of the Lutece...siblings, caught him completely off guard.   
“I imagine they’ll be going together, correct? Those two...if I didn’t-ow!” Fink held a hand to his jawline where Flambeau had accidentally nicked him.   
“I-I’m so sorry sir...I-I...” Flambeau shuffled, setting down the razor. “I just- remembered...I forgot...forgot something in the office.”   
Fink’s brow furrowed. “Yeah that blush on your cheeks is from a missing dossier. Get it out, Flambeau, you love-sick bastard.” He stood up and grinned, picking up the razor himself and continuing the job.   
“What do you mean...by that?” Flambeau tensed, still kneeling beside a drop of blood.   
“What? The way you look at her? Please...” Fink worked at his cheeks, scraping them clean, “Good luck getting her out of Bobby’s grasp. There’s something pretty queer going on there.”   
“Sir, I don’t care for Rosalind in that matter. We’ve just-”  
“So it’s Rob that strikes your fancy?” He turned to face his stumbling associate.   
Flambeau’s features twisted from shock to something annoyed. “What. Do you mean by that...exactly.” It wasn’t a question at all more so than a cautious retort.   
Fink stared at him, his mustache concealing any hint of a grin if there was one. The air froze. A sensation of fleeting rage caused Flambeau to tense his jaw.   
“Who are you escorting tonight?” Fink asked bluntly.   
“I haven’t the time to court, let alone send an invitation to.” He rolled down his sleeves, going back to his velvety suit coat- a white carnation gently pinned to the lapel. “Quite frankly, and you know this very well, you are the one I spend most of my hours with. Solving your frugal business expenses and that labyrinth of an annual profits chart you’ve stowed away in your desk.” He pulled on the jacket, adjusting his vest and facing Fink.   
“One could say, Sir, that I’ll be attending the Christmas Ball with your debt and non-existent discretionary income in mind.”   
Fink huffed with a smile, turning back to the mirror.   
Flambeau rolled his eyes and collected his winter coat. “And you sir? What fine young specimen has the pleasure of your gilded-strapping arm this evening?”   
“Oh I’m goin’ stag.” He replied instantly, setting down the razor and blotting his chin with a damp towel.   
There was a moment in which Flambeau desperately wanted to toss his hat at the mirror before Fink.   
“Why do you make me do that when you’re fully capable of it yourself?”   
Fink ran a hand through his hair and turned to Flambeau. “You think I make you, is that it? I thought we had a mutual understanding that I was letting you, Mr. Flambeau.”   
His eyes narrowed to slits before he promptly settled his hat on his head. “Will that be all I can assist you with this evening, Sir?”   
“What’ll you be wearing? Tonight. You going to have one of those...things?”   
“What on earth are you referring to?”   
Fink motioned with the now-clean razor to the carnation on his lapel. “That..bo-bow-”  
“A boutonniere.” Flambeau corrected, running a delicate hand under the carnation. “I will be, yes. Why?”   
“Can you...can you fix me one?”   
“Beg pardon?” His eyes went wide in shock.   
“We should match. We both represent the same enterprise. If we’e going into a goddamn den of saps, we outta be linked somehow.”   
“You want me to make you...make you, a boutonniere?”   
“Is there going to be a problem, Mr. Flambeau?” Fink said as he buttoned up his collar.   
Flambeau slowly shook his head, adjusting his own collar. “Not at all sir, not at all. I’ll see you this evening.”   
He left without another word before his curiosity got the better of him. 

x-x-x-x-x

That pompous, entitled monster. That uncultured, ill-mannered brute! 

Flambeau tapped his glass of whiskey with little patience on the surface of his own desk. At home, he was among more than enough amenities to assist in this bizarre task he’d been appointed with. But why? However many years worth of Holiday’s Fink had spent locked away in solitude must’ve turned him sour, or at the very least spoiled his concept of Holiday tradition. 

Flambeau reclined, running a hand through his flowing hair. “Christ.”   
He thought then of the Madame Lutece and what radiant attire she’d be attending in. Knowing fully well she needn’t a wardrobe to dominate conversation or draw attention. It was obvious her only equal was her brother. But seeing as how their union would never be deemed acceptable by the public, Fink would make a solid contender. Both of status, wealth, and intelligence. Though it was not unknown that Fink and Rosalind held expertise in rather opposite fields. Rosalind Lutece was capable of inverting a mountain, while Jeremiah Fink could convince a town of people to work for him and dig through the mountain. 

The thought of them dancing together amidst a crowd of encouraging eyes, some with intrigue and others with envy, drove him mad. He shook the thought from his head and finished off his glass before starting to select a proper floral specimen for his mission. 

His hands worked quickly- racing with his thoughts as images of Fink with an array of young bachelorettes that were bound to present themselves flooded his conscious. 

x-x-x-x

“A sprig of holly, and a red carnation.” Flambeau said, delicately pinning his creation to Fink’s lapel. The two of them stood inside the coat room, both clad in their most formal wear- Flambeau wearing a deep burgundy velvet coat with his white satin bow. Fink wore the evening dress with tails that was expected of him. The flare Flambeau had attached to his breast was the only piece of color on him. It would pierce the black scheme from across the room. 

Flambeau swallowed when he looked up, realizing how dashing Fink appeared.   
“Presentable?” Fink muttered, shifting in his suit.   
“Y-yes.” Flambeau turned. “Wait-” he stopped Fink just before he exited- instantly grabbed his hand and turning him around. A lock of his dark haired brushed on Fink’s cheek, causing him to blink.   
“Oscar?”   
“Wait.” Flambeau pressed his lips together- ignoring Fink using his first name. He reached up and straightened the man’s bow tie before delicately coming away. “You’re...perfect.” His lips grew dry.   
“Are you...alright?” Fink lowered his head, looking Flambeau in the eye.   
“Of course. Ready to present to Columbia’s finest.” he grinned, adjusting his own carnation- a white one pinned beside a sprig of holly. “Let us away.”

x-x-x-x

The event itself was completely as expected. It began with a rather lengthy introduction and prayer, a rather unnecessary moment of silence, and a brief speech from both Luteces and closing with Fink himself assuring the new year to be just as profitable as the last in the manufacturing district. 

Albert Fink had arranged a charming musical selection for the evening. Tunes he’d been keeping hidden for months- including a new piece titled “All I Want For Christmas is You” which was beloved instantly. 

There was much more feasting than was necessary for Columbia’s elite. Flambeau raised a glass to his lips as he reflected on the numbers of starving, under-paid workers left out of the equation. He thought of this as he entertained fine young socialites, danced with the daughters of the Police Chief and Airship captain respectively, and recounted most humors stories to intrigued ears abound. 

Growing weary from the incessant chatter and appearances, he retired to the second floor balcony, watching over the party with wine at his lips. 

“Tell me, did my brother put you up to that?” Albert chimed from seemingly nowhere. He smiled warmly, a glass in his hand. He nodded again at the carnation on his chest. “Where’s mine? Or is it couples only?”   
Flambeau frowned. “You tell me, Albert. Your brother is a most peculiar, sour man, when he wants to be.”   
“Hm.”

“Do you think he...knows?”  
Albert took a deep sip of his wine before smiling slightly. “Be careful with that, Oscar.” He nodded out to the dance floor. 

Sure enough, Fink was swaying along with a mutually reluctant Rosalind. The two of them appeared to be lost in their own conversation, utilizing this forced appearance as an opportunity to catch onto whatever the either one was working on and establish some sort of update on the other. 

As conservative as it was, it drove Flambeau mad. He walked out of the french doors of the balcony and into the bracing air of the night beyond. He stopped immediately, not from the cold and his shiver, but from noticing Robert Lutece noticing him. 

The male Lutece scanned him over with his eyes before turning away and staring out over the city. “I suppose the evening has come to this?”

Flambeau lit his cigarette and stared off in the opposite direction. “The expected shouldn’t be treated unexpectedly.” 

“Hm. You should know that doesn’t do much to kill the sensation.”  
“You’re a man of science, shouldn’t you be dominant over your own sensation?” 

Robert raised his head before promptly lowering it again. “It’s completely perfect, you know. You and I here together, while they’re inside...”

“...together.” Flambeau sighed. “Am I truly that hopeless.”  
“I’ve been around a more enlightened crowd before my time here, you know.” Robert spoke in a cold tone. He was completely uninterested in Flambeau’s own heartache- set only to collect Rosalind as promptly as possible and return to the Lutece Manor with her. “Don’t be coy. It’s ineffective.” Robert turned to face the inside of the party. 

“Hmpf. What is there to be said? You are his attache- his consultant to the rest of the world. Beneath that veneer of public presentation and grandiose, impulsive direction...what is there to be said for him?” 

Robert turned to face Flambeau whose lips were pressed into a line- the words slicing him worse than the wind. 

“I suppose you’ll be the only to speak and to hear it when the time comes.” He finished.  
“My, Robert...what I wouldn’t give to have your venom and tact.” Flambeau said with a flat face. “You truly are one and the same.” 

Robert smirked at this. “However did you manage to surrender your heart to that.”   
Flambeau took a bold step closer, stamping out his cigarette. He was soon a breath away from Robert’s freckled face. 

“You’ve quite the criticism.” Flambeau paused, staring Robert in the eyes. A consideration of actions churned within him. “Enlightened crowd, you say?”   
“What of it then, Flambeau?” Robert said, unmoved by the proximity.   
Flambeau slowly slid a hand to Robert’s pale cheek. Robert made a small huff before leaning down and meeting Flambeau’s lips. 

“What a tragic person he’s making of you.” Robert whispered when they parted.   
“Go to your other half, Robert.” Flambeau said. 

“Go to yours.” He retorted before tearing himself away and going inside. 

x-x-x-x-x

Midnight. Or close to it. The Fink Brothers and their favored associate had returned back to the safety of Finkton’s boundaries that evening. Jeremiah had swiftly gone into his bedroom- surrounded by his monitors and telephones. Albert retired to his record shop. It was Flambeau who had found himself beneath, in Fink’s personal chapel. 

He’d delivered Fink to his bedroom and somehow wandered here- amidst the rows of candles and an incredibly dusted bible. Bottles of absinthe were discarded about the room, showing just what Fink used the place for. 

He stared at the three candles he’d lit- partly for illumination, and partly for symbolism. Flambeau had never exactly considered himself religious. He’d grown up with a crucifix on his mother’s mantle, but his beliefs stayed in Ireland- probably for the better. 

But tonight he needed something. Someone to meet with and confide in- be it himself at ease, or an unearthly spirit. He folded his hands together and closed his eyes. 

“By all...official accounts I suppose I...I shouldn’t be here. Given my disposition.” He whispered. “But I...god-” he winced, cradling his head in his hands. “Fuck...” it echoed throughout the stone room. 

“What’re you...doing?” echoed back from the staircase.   
Flambeau whirled around, eyes watery but not at all close to allowing tears to form. “Sir! Sir what’re you...I was-”

“I didn’t know you were religious. Fuck.” Fink chuckled, coming closer. He was wearing his dress shirt-unbuttoned at the top, his suspenders down at his sides. A fresh bottle of wine was in his hand, though it appeared he’d been experiencing more. 

“You’re...drunk.” Flambeau noted out loud.   
“I’ll let you in on a secret.” Fink huffed, coming right beside Flambeau. “I hate...those parties. God damn waste of time.” 

Flambeau frowned, turning back to the candles. “What would you rather be doing? Working? Going over your papers? Come on, it’s Christmas Eve.”

“No it isn’t.” Fink grinned, taking a sip. “It’s Christmas Day.” He held up his pocket watch by the chain. “Merry Christmas, Oscar.” 

Flambeau stared at him. “Give me the bottle. You’re lucky you didn’t trip.” He reached for it and Fink backed away, smiling, before slowly handing it back to Flambeau. He stared at it before taking a long drink, noticing Fink staring out of the corner of his eye. 

They sat in silence for a moment, on the floor of the chapel with the bottle between them. Flambeau was aware of how unprofessional it was but he was also aware that it didn’t matter now. 

“It’s alright you know...”  
“Hm?” Flambeau turned to him.   
“I don’t think this is a waste of time. I rather like...like being with you.” Fink said in a swirling growl. He let out a cough and grabbed for the bottle. “What’re you doing here though? You get lost?”  
“No I just...I didn’t quite want to go home yet.” Flambeau turned to add to his statement, but stopped, noticing Fink hadn’t stopped looking at him. He looked over the man slowly- his hair was disheveled and his mustache free of wax. His intoxication had made him excitable and left him looking renewed. 

“We ought to get you cleaned up.” Flambeau said.   
“What, like you? Yeah- Alb did a great job there.” He suddenly laid himself down over Flambeau’s lap, grabbing the carnation from his lapel and began to examine it. Flambeau didn’t move an inch, lest he break this spell. “You think if anyone knew how much of my...polished self they saw came from you and Albert...you think they’d still respect me?” 

“They’d certainly fear you. Or feel intimidated, so yes. In some regard.” Flambeau sighed. 

“Aw to hell with ‘em.” He sighed, putting the carnation in his pocket and staring up at Flambeau. “We got here didn’t we? From the shit.” 

“You just played the cards right. I held your spares.” Flambeau smiled slightly. “Tell me- why were you drinking? It’s unlike you. At least now. After this evening.” 

“You tell me...why you never take off your coat first.” Fink huffed. “When you come into my office.” 

Flambeau hesitated, going so far as to brush a strand of hair from Fink’s brow.   
“I don’t like the cold. It irritates me.” 

“Why?”  
“No- you only get one. Now tell me why you were drinking.”

Fink growled- his inquiry was enough to spook the man back to sitting up straight.   
“I felt like it.”   
“Really? You need to tell me a real reason.” Flambeau furrowed his brow.   
“I felt like it!” Fink growled, crossing his arms and looking away. Flambeau watched him do this and realized something.   
“You’re not...sure why you felt it though, are you?”   
Fink turned back to him and released a sigh. Flambeau nodded and shifted, crossing his arms to brace for his own explanation. 

“When I was a boy...the winter after my father left my mother and my brothers and sisters and I...the winter was so cold we had to burn nearly all of our furniture to survive.” He bit his lip. “But it wasn’t enough. And it stayed that way every winter- no matter how much we tried to prepare. It was always...so cold. It stayed in my bones and followed me everywhere. I used to think our house was...cursed when I was that little.” 

Fink huffed, finishing off the bottle of wine before setting it down closer to the altar. “I uh...sometimes I don’t...sometimes I miss the old days.” He muttered, standing beside the candles. “Sometimes I miss what it was like. Down there. With you and the company in the early days. Sometimes I...wish I could take it back.” 

Flambeau stood slowly, coming over to him. “My. With a confession like that, you must really be ossified. You poor creature.” 

“Are you cold now?” Fink said, clearing his throat.   
Flambeau looked down for a moment before coming up and once again daring to brush back his hair. “Not hardly.”   
There was a pause. Fink appeared to have just run a number of laps around the entire facility. His breath was visible but not completely unhinged. Flambeau was completely frozen in place by his presence before him.   
“I’m sorry I...nicked you earlier. I was completely absent minded.”   
“It’s okay. I liked it.” He muttered, feeling the scratch on his jaw. “See?”   
Flambeau stared, pressing his lips together. “Oh dear...” he brought a hand to Fink’s neck, gently pressing down his collar to get a better look at his handiwork.   
“Jeremiah...”   
“Hm?” He smiled, eyes half lidded.   
“Will you remember any of this tomorrow?” Flambeau sighed, fixing the man’s collar once more.   
Fink shrugged, deciding to return the gesture and play with Flambeau’s still-kept collar. “I already feel asleep. Like a dream. Er somethin’...” 

With this admission, Flambeau felt incredibly selfish. He reached up slowly and looked Fink in the eyes before pressing a light kiss onto his lips. “Merry Christmas, you scoundrel.” He whispered.   
Fink leaned back in and pressed a kiss back. They exchanged for a moment, Flambeau choosing not to question it at all, allowing himself to be drawn in by sturdy arms and surrender to the moment.   
“You...you’re so soft.” Fink’s brow furrowed.   
“What did you expect?” Flambeau smiled, hands collecting Fink’s cheeks.   
Fink shook his head. “I...I didn’t really.” He closed his eyes and smiled, clearly drifting off in place. 

Good enough. “I’ll bring you back.” Flambeau drew his arm over his shoulder and they ascended, back to the reality of a Christmas Day in Finkton.

**Author's Note:**

> So I think this is my first time posting a Finkbeau fic? Yeah? Anyways...I'm so about this pair but I've never posted anything. I wrote this just before Christmas after feeling inspired and only shared it with my partner but um. I really hope some more people enjoy it. I feel like no one else ships this ship hah but there's some juicy drama. Happy Holidays!
> 
> upd: My head canon at this point in their relationship is that Fink has been working with Flambeau for a while (many years) and caught on to his preferences for the same sex but just ignored it because he's a damn fine associate.


End file.
